


An Earthly Knight

by caput-medusae (imriebelow)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Animal Transformation, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Retellings, Halloween, M/M, Romance, True Love, Unseelie Court
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-01 07:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16280090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imriebelow/pseuds/caput-medusae
Summary: Memories of magic from his childhood lead Keith to a love he never knew he needed - if only he can hold onto it.Ever since he came back from the forest, Keith has been having unsettling dreams: dreams where he’s being hunted and can’t run, dreams where birds peck out his eyes. In one, Shiro puts a cup to Keith’s lips full of red, red wine that turns to rose petals in his mouth, choking him.He dreams about music, wild music: pipes and strings and drums. Fire flickers and dancers whirl around him. He dreams that he joins them, and Shiro’s hands are the ones that pull him into the dance.





	1. Among the Leaves so Green

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Finally! A fandom I feel inspired to write canon-compliant fics for!  
> Also Me: Fairy tale retelling trash.
> 
> Parts Two and Three are largely finished and just need editing. They should be posted over the next two weeks!

 

 _He's taken her by the milk-white hand,_  
_Among the leaves so green,_  
_And what they did I cannot tell._ _  
_ _The green leaves were between._

Child Ballad 39I, simplified

 

Keith’s dad lets him roam free. Later on, adults will shake their heads and tell him it was dangerous and neglectful to let a little boy wander the desert alone. But Keith’s dad had free rein as a child, and by God he wanted to raise his son the same way.

It's heaven for a young boy - an endless expanse of rock and sand and sky for Keith to explore. His dad always waiting for him at home at the end of the day, ready to hear about his adventures and see what he found: the lizards, the cool rocks, the dried-up bones.

Today, he tells his dad, he saw lights that zipped through the canyons and tried to lead him off a cliff. Yesterday a man in a cowboy hat rode by him on a skinny grey horse and vanished before his eyes. Dad listens, leaning back in his chair, and offers advice. Keith learns to turn his clothes inside out so nothing can lead him astray. He takes to carrying an iron nail next to his compass and pocket knife.

One day Keith wanders a little farther than ever before. To his amazement he finds himself walking from desert sand into cool, green woods. Exploring more, he finds a garden full of odd plants and apple trees lush with tempting golden fruit. They’re the most perfect apples he’s ever seen, each one plump, glossy, and bright. The branches are heavy with them, drooping down toward the ground. Keith is hungry just looking at them.

He stands on his toes, reaching high for one that looks particularly sweet. He pulls it from the branch. Birds burst up out the ground, cawing and shrieking, swirling around Keith’s head. He ducks to avoid the claws and the wide, black wings. Keith runs and runs, aware of eyes watching him from the shadows - flickering dark shapes whose whispered _"Thief, thief!”_ follow him back home.

When he stumbles back to the house, breathless and frightened, Dad gently takes the apple from his hand. He looks it over, admiring, then puts it away somewhere Keith can’t find it.

He’s afraid Dad will scold him for taking something that wasn’t his, but Dad just grips Keith by the shoulders and makes him promise he will never _ever_ go back there.

Dad never brings it up again. It blurs with everything else into one long dream. Him and his dad and the sand and sun and stars.

 

* * *

 

After the fire, after the first foster family, and the second, and the third, Keith ends up at a group home in a run-down part of town. There are too many kids and not enough counselors. The couple in the little house next door are always screaming at each other and ignoring their crying baby. Stray cats fight in the alley all night. His sleep is often interrupted by sirens. His roommates deal drugs to their classmates through the back window. He lays awake at night with a cold, sick certainty in his chest that he doesn’t belong here.

He misses the sunset over the mountains, the prickly pear and cholla, the coyotes singing at night. Here it’s all concrete and weeds, flickering streetlights and a constant smell of car exhaust. Talking about iron and lights and vanishing people gets you sent to the doctor. Wearing your clothes inside-out gets you beaten up by older kids.

They make him go to school, which he hates. Dad always just gave him lessons at home. As soon as he’s old enough that they can’t make him go back, he drops out. He runs around with a bad crowd. He gets into trouble. He ages out of the system and grimly resigns himself to homelessness until he can scrounge enough funds for a bus ticket to anywhere.

Then the lawyer tracks him down and tells him Dad left him the house.

 

* * *

 

It’s not just the house, as it turns out, but a decent amount of insurance money, too.

Over a year after moving back in, the house still smells like dust. There’s a lot to do to make it livable: fixing the wiring, the AC, the holes in the roof, the crumbling back stairs. The hardwood floors are cracked and dry. Keith throws thrift store rugs over the worst parts until he can get around to replacing everything with tile. He sleeps on a couch bought off some guy on the internet. The well water runs cloudy and red so he signs up for water delivery. Bats and scorpions keep getting in from somewhere. Dad’s hoverbike is years out of date and needs new parts. It’s a lot more work than he expected and the money’s going quick, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

It’s quiet. He’d forgotten how quiet it could be out in the middle of nowhere. His property is huge, acres and acres. His nearest neighbor is a state park. Keith seldom has to see another person, barring the occasional deliveryman or lost hiker. He goes into town only when he has to; in the evenings he sits on the back porch and looks up websites on self-sufficiency.

It’d be nice to get some more solar panels, get the house off the grid. He’s already started digging out a vegetable garden.

Maybe he should get some chickens.

When he’s not working on the house, he hikes. It’s been a long time but the lay of the land comes back to him. There’s the rock formation he almost broke his arm falling off of. There are the dry streambeds that flood when it rains, the weathered pioneer headstones. There’s the old well with the pale, eyeless fish whose scales glow in the dark. There’s the steep drop a floating light once tried to lure him over.

Each night he goes to sleep pleasantly exhausted and dreams about strange things: eyes, feathers, green forests, deep caves. Sometimes it feels like he’s always dreaming, just waiting for something to wake him up.

 

* * *

 

There are some boxes of his dad’s old things stuffed in the attic that Keith’s been avoiding. Even thinking about dealing with it leaves a dull, exhausted ache in his chest. He can’t put it off forever, though, so one warm, spring day he grits his teeth and drags them out. There are some musty clothes, too big for Keith. A lot of random papers. Some look important, though most end up in the trash. A bunch of keys that don’t seem to go to anything. Some old, broken watches. He’s surprised to find a ring - plain gold, a little dented. It’s his dad’s. He always wore it like a wedding ring, though he’d never married. Keith had thought he’d been buried with it. It’s too wide for Keith’s fingers; if he wants to wear it he’ll have to put it on a chain around his neck. He slips it in his pocket.

Keith also finds a box of things he gave his dad that he’d found while out exploring. Inside are a few feathers, a crumbling snakeskin, a cactus spine as long as a man’s finger. There are some glittery rocks and a tiny jawbone that looks strangely human. He has a vague memory of having once found some gold coins buried in the sand, but all he can find in the box are dried yellow leaves.

Dad’s hunting rifle is tucked in a corner, locked in its case. He’d never gotten around to teaching Keith how to use it. Nearby is another case. Keith didn’t think his dad had any other guns, but it looks about the right size for one. There are several locks on it so Keith dives into the keys he found, trying them one by one until the locks click open.

In the case, nestled in fabric, is a knife - a really nice one, bright silver with purple inlay. It looks fancy, like it might be worth something. It’s not his dad’s style at all.

There’s a note with it.

 _For Keith_ , it reads in an elegant, feminine hand. _He might need it someday_ . _I love you both._

His eyes trace and retrace the letters, brain processing sluggishly. It’s definitely not Dad’s handwriting.

It’s his mom’s.

For the first time since those weeks after Dad died Keith’s furious at his father. Sure, he and Dad were happy together, just the two of them, but Keith had still wanted to _know_ about his mother. But Dad had sworn up and down he had nothing of hers, not a single memento. Not even a photo. None of the guys at the station had met her. It was like she never existed. Keith didn’t even have a birth certificate, which had caused all kinds of problems with the social workers and schools. As far as anyone knew Keith had been delivered to his father’s doorstep by a stork.

But Dad had lied. Why would he keep this from him? A logical part of Keith knows he was just waiting until Keith was older, and it’s probably a good thing Dad never gave the knife to him. He wouldn’t have been allowed to take it to any of the foster homes or the group home, and if he had one of the other kids would have stolen it.

But Keith spent years hating his mother. Years staying up at night waiting for a knock at the door, for a phone call, for an oddly familiar face to appear in the crowd of parents picking up their kids from school. Years wondering if thoughts of him ever crossed his mother’s mind. Years believing she didn’t care about him at all.

_For Keith. I love you both._

Dad promised he’d tell Keith about his mother when he was old enough, and now he’s not here to tell Keith anything.

He knew there was a good reason he he was avoiding going through Dad’s things. With shaking hands he sits the knife and the note back in the case. He should never have come here, he thinks. He should have just taken the money and headed off somewhere far far away and started over.

There’s something else under the fabric.

Keith unwraps it. An apple, yellow with the slightest blush of red. As fresh as the day, years ago, he picked it. It all rushes back to him: the apple, the garden, his dad’s uncharacteristically serious demand.

He shuts the case and shoves it behind a pile of clothes. Taking the apple, he heads downstairs and sits it on the kitchen counter. It still looks good enough to eat. Magic or not, given how long it’s been sitting in the attic it’s probably not a good idea.

Keith still dreams about the garden sometimes, about the birds that chased him home. It was a day he assumed he’d remembered wrong, something mundane made big by a child’s imagination. Why did his dad make him promise to stay away? Was it really that dangerous?

Should he trust Dad, even knowing he lied about Keith’s mom?

He makes a decision. He wants to go back.

 

* * *

 

Following the half-remembered route he took as a child takes Keith far from the safety of the house into an unfriendly part of his property. There’s not much there but dry grass and a forest of jumping cholla, whose spiny pads stick by the handful to unlucky passersby. Keith came home covered in them more than once as a kid, so he picks his way through gingerly. Cactus wrens screech at him and flutter between plants.

The sun starts to go down. Keith’s beginning to think about heading back when, between one step and the next, his feet leave sandy earth and sink into thick, green moss. Even though he was half-expecting it he stumbles, falling to his hands and knees in a ring of blue toadstools. Behind him, the sounds of the desert are gone, replaced by a murmuring brook and birds with low, haunting cries. He drags himself upright, turning around in a slow circle.

This is it. Right? He had made his way through the patch of cholla, wandered through the forest, and then found the garden. It can’t be far.

He walks until he finds a trail, a worn path with leafy branches arched overhead blocking out the sky. Criss-crossing the loamy soil are footprints he can’t even hope to recognize. Small animals thrash and chitter in the underbrush. It almost sounds like laughter.

It’s a little unnerving, but whatever’s around him can’t be anything scarier than an angry rattlesnake or a bobcat. He starts to relax.

The sharp brassy call of a horn cuts through the trees. The birds go silent. Keith goes rigid, listening. Maybe he misheard? A trickle of unease runs down his spine. Animals he can handle, but he’s not so sure about whatever kind of people live here. The horn sounds again, and the forest explodes with motion. Birds take flight, crying out in alarm. A white deer bursts from the trees, breath steaming, eyes rolling. Its hooves skitter for purchase on the path.

Then Keith hears the dogs.

He can’t tell how many but it gets gets the impression there’s a whole pack barking and baying and howling somewhere behind him. Getting closer.

Instinct tells him to run.

There’s nowhere to go but straight ahead. Both sides of the trail are choked with thorns and low branches. Rabbit-fast, his blood pounds in his ears, not quite drowning out the drumming of encroaching hoofbeats. Whoever or whatever’s behind is gaining on him, fast. Keith’s not slow, but he’s never going to outrun someone on horseback.

He’s thinking about taking his chances with the brambles when someone makes the decision for him, yanking him bodily off the path. Keith struggles and kicks, expecting to feel teeth tearing at his neck. Instead, a hand clamps itself over his mouth and a man’s voice hisses in his ear: “Hold still! I’m not going to hurt you.”

Keith wriggles free, whipping around to meet the light-brown gaze of a man in black armor. He’s a big guy, broad-shouldered and at least a head taller than Keith. His hair is dark and messy. The man takes advantage of his shocked stillness, pushing him low to the ground.

“What - ” Keith starts, but the man puts a finger to his lips.

“Shh,” he says. “I can make you invisible. But you have to be still, or they’ll see you.”

Keith tries to get up but the man crouches down next to him, holding him in place. “Who are they?” Keith gasps.

“Hunters,” the man says.

Keith swallows. “What are they hunting?”

The man tilts an eyebrow wryly. “You.” His hand leaves Keith’s back. “I’m Shiro,” he says. “It’s going to be all right. As long as you hold still.” He touches Keith’s forehead and a cold tingly sensation flows from the spot.

Keith glances down. He can’t see his hands. He can only assume the rest of him is similarly invisible.

Shiro returns to the path. He waits there with arms crossed, facing down the oncoming riders with a stormy expression.

At least a dozen horsemen approach, violet cloaks billowing behind them. They pull on their reins; the horses slow, heads tossing, and form a loose circle around Shiro. Pale hounds slink between the horses’ legs, growling low in their throats.

Keith observes, wide-eyed. Some of the riders look almost human, others are scaly or covered with fur. One has white feathers in place of hair. They’re all carrying long, wicked-looking spears.

One horseman separates from the group, nudging his mount close to Shiro. “Look what we have here,” he calls to his companions. “The Queen’s pet.” He gives an exaggerated half-bow. “Champion,” he says. He’s bigger than the others, furry, purple, and clawed. One of his eyes glows yellow; the other is a gleaming red jewel. The mount that carries him is tall and bears a pair of spiralling black horns. “You’re blocking our way.”

“Lord Sendak,” says Keith’s rescuer. “Why are you here?”

Keith’s limbs are cramping from his awkward position. He resists the urge to shake out his arms, hoping he doesn’t have to hold his pose too long.

“One of my scouts smelled a trespasser. I was taking care of it.”

Shiro shifts a little, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “This is my area to patrol. Any trespassers are mine to deal with.”

“Yes,” Sendak says, sounding amused. His horse paws at the ground. “The dutiful Champion. Cold and cruel, upholding the Queen’s law with an iron fist.”

A ripple of laughter passes through the circled riders.

“Regardless,” Shiro says. “It’s not your place to interfere.”

Sendak looms over him. Shiro stands firm.

Sneering, Sendak relents. “The quarry is yours.” He gives Shiro another bow, even more mocking this time. He motions at the other riders. Grumbling, they begin to disperse. “We’ll have to find some other prey.” Sendak’s jeweled eye flashes.

With a yelp, the feathered horseman begins to shrink and sprout fur. He tumbles from his horse and hits the ground as a shivering hare. For a moment he’s frozen, long ears trembling. Then the hounds leap for him, snarling, and he takes off at a sprint. Another hunter raises a horn to her lips, blowing a long, piercing note. The group spurs their horses after the new target.

Before following, Sendak glances over his shoulder at Shiro. “Her favor is fickle, Champion,” he says. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Keith waits until he’s well out of sight. Shakily, he pushes himself to his feet, brushing leaves and twigs off his clothes. He still feels tingly from whatever made him invisible.

“You’re bleeding,” Shiro says. He’s suddenly very close, taking Keith’s wrists and examining them. His hands are big but gentle. Keith’s arms are striped with thin, bloody scratches from being pulled through the thorn bushes. They start to sting when as he notices them. Under Shiro’s attention, though, the scratches fade, skin knitting together as though the wounds were never there.

“Sorry,” he says, looking up at Keith almost shyly. “I should have been more careful.”

“It’s okay,” Keith says. His hates how weak his voice sounds and he coughs lightly. “Just. What the absolute fuck?”

Shiro’s face breaks into a grin. “What’s your name?” he asks. He still hasn’t let go of Keith’s wrists, so Keith gently frees himself from his grip. “Do you know how you got here? Did someone bring you?”

“I’m Keith. I - I came here on my own. I was looking for a garden.”

At Shiro’s quizzical look he explains: the garden he found as a kid, the apple trees, the birds. His father’s warning never to go back.

“The Queen’s garden,” Shiro says. “Your father was right. It was very dangerous to come here.”

“I just wanted to understand,” Keith says. “Dad knew about - all of this. But he never explained it to me.” He wraps his arms around himself, hunching his shoulders. “I wanted to see it again.” He takes an unsteady breath and lets it out slowly. “What is this place, really?”

“The Otherworld,” Shiro says. “Fairyland. Under the Hill. It has a lot of names. Mostly we call it Faerie.”

“Oh,” says Keith. “So you’re…?”

“A fairy. Yes.”

“Huh.” Keith’s worldview rearranges itself, things slotting into place.

“The place you came from,” Shiro says. “If you’ve crossed over this many times…  It must be a place where the barriers between worlds are thin.”

“Things were always a little - strange back home,” Keith says. “I was a kid. I guess I just kind of accepted it.” Suddenly exhausted, he slumps back against a tree.

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Come on,” Shiro says. “Let’s get you home.” He leads Keith back out onto the road. Putting his fingers to his mouth, he whistles. A soft neigh answers him. A horse comes trotting up out of the thick woods. It’s a pretty thing, black with a white mane. Bells jingle on its bridle. “You know how to ride?” Shiro asks.

“I took a couple lessons as a kid,” Keith says. “But that was a pony about a third of the size of this guy.”

Shiro huffs a laugh. “Better than nothing.” He gives Keith a hand up, then swings up behind him. It’s not exactly comfortable - the saddle isn’t built for two and Shiro’s armor is cold and hard against the back of Keith’s neck. “Do you remember which way you came from?” he asks, close to Keith’s ear, voice rumbling down Keith’s spine.

“Um,” Keith says. “That way.” He’s very aware of Shiro’s arms on either side of him reaching for the reins.

Shiro seems to take Keith’s shiver as nervousness. “Don’t worry,” he teases. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Uh huh,” Keith says weakly. Shiro nudges the horse into a quick canter.

“So,” Keith says when he gets his voice under control. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he curls them in the horse’s soft mane. “Who are you, exactly?”

“I’m a knight of the Unseelie Court.” Shiro says.

“Okay.” This doesn’t mean much to Keith. “Why’d that guy keep calling you Champion?”

Shiro gives a sigh that Keith feels through his whole body. “It’s what I am. Queen’s Champion. Her favorite.”

“He didn’t seem happy about that.”

“Sendak? No, he’s - He’s fallen out of favor.”

“He seemed like an asshole.”

Shiro snorts. “Yeah.”

“If those guys’d gotten to me before you did,” Keith says. “Would they have killed me?”

Shiro makes a noise low in his throat. “If you’re lucky.”

“Great.” Keith tilts his head back and thunks it on Shiro’s chestplate. “Thanks, I guess.”

Shiro chuckles. “You’re welcome.”

They trot along until Keith recognizes his surroundings. Before long they come to the glade Keith first entered, with the ring of mushrooms he’d fallen into. Keith straightens up. “Here,” he says. “This is my stop.”

Shiro helps him dismount, his hands lingering on Keith’s for a beat too long. “A fairy ring,” he observes. “I assume this is the portal?”

“Yeah. I just walk in it again to leave?”

“It should work,” Shiro says. “Just - ” He looks embarrassed. “Actually, there’s, uh. One last thing. There’s a toll that has to be paid-”

“A what?”

“A toll. Before I can let you go.”

Keith stares. Shiro doesn’t look like he’s joking. “I don’t exactly have any money on me…”

“No, no, it’s - A gold ring is traditional. Or a fine cloak. Although I guess you don’t have either of those things on you.” He rubs his neck. “Or - Let’s just say I can accept a kiss.”

“What?” Keith feels himself flushing. He sputters a laugh. “You can’t be serious!”

Shiro goes pink, too. “It’s the law,” he says. “A really old law. Sorry. I’m sworn to uphold it.”

“This is ridiculous.” Keith says. “There’s no way-” He breaks off, and sighs. “I guess that Sendak guy would’ve asked for a lot worse, right?”

Shiro makes a face that means _You have no idea_.

Keith is at a loss. Sure, Shiro’s handsome, and he did save Keith’s life, but he’s only just met the guy! Keith’s never been in the habit of kissing anyone, much less virtual strangers. He doesn’t have anything else to pay with, though, and he _really_ wants to go home. But he does have something else, he realizes. His dad’s ring is still in his pocket. He forgot to take it out. Keith reaches for it, then stops, chewing his lip. Does he really want to give it away?

“I - ” he starts. He steps into Shiro’s space. _Fuck it_. Keith surges up and plants an abrupt kiss on his cheek.

Shiro brings a startled hand up to the place Keith’s lips touched.

“You said a kiss,” Keith says defensively. “You didn’t say where.”

Shiro lets out a bark of delighted laughter. “I didn’t,” he agrees. He bows and gestures at the circle. “That’s good enough for me. You’re free to go.”

Keith manages to get one foot in the circle before Shiro interrupts him again.

“Keith - before you go -”

He turns back to look. A ball of light hovers over Shiro’s palm. It settles, solidifying into a sprig of white flowers. Quickly, he bends the stem into a circle and slips it on Keith’s wrist.

“Apple blossoms,” he explains. “A pass for crossing over. If you have them on you, you can come and go as you please. No more toll.”

“Oh,” Keith says, surprised. “Thanks.” He glances up to meet Shiro’s eyes. He’s still pink.

“Not that - I’m encouraging you to come back, or anything,” Shiro says. “It’s dangerous. You should stay away.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. Softly, he touches one of the flowers. “I’ll do that.”

“But if you do - if you need help, as long as you have it on you, say my name three times. I’ll hear you, wherever I am, and I’ll come to you.”

“That’s - thank you,” Keith says again. “Really. You’ve helped me a lot today.”

Shiro beams. “It was my pleasure.”

Pleasure or not, it’s more than many would do for a stranger. A sudden impulse has Keith stepping back out of the circle again and pulling Shiro down for a real kiss. Real might not be the right word - it’s awkward and unpracticed, the first time Keith’s ever kissed anyone on the mouth. He’s probably not very good at it. But it’s the least he can do - Shiro _did_ save his life. And he _is_ very handsome.

They break apart and Keith finds himself trying to catch his breath. Embarrassed, he whirls around and marches into the fairy circle. He looks back one last time to where Shiro is frozen, speechless.

Keith steps out of the mushroom ring and back into the desert sun, straight into a cholla cactus.

He spends the rest of the night picking spines out of his legs.

 

* * *

 

For a few weeks he lets things go back to normal. He works on the house. He plants some vegetables. He hikes and climbs rocks and tells himself every day that’s he’s not going back to Faerie.

Ever since he came back from the forest, Keith has been having unsettling dreams: dreams where he’s being hunted and can’t run, dreams where birds peck out his eyes. In one, Shiro puts a cup to Keith’s lips full of red, red wine that turns to rose petals in his mouth, choking him.

It all seems crazy. Stumbling into another world, being swept off his feet by a handsome knight? It feels like some product of loneliness and too much sun. Maybe he’s losing it.

Or, he knows in his heart, it’s all real. And he’s dying to know more.

How did his dad know about all this fairy stuff? Had he crossed over into the other world? Would he have explained everything to Keith when he got older?

Did Mom know? Was it too weird for her?

Was that why she left?

Does Keith really want to know the answer?

Given he narrowly escaped something terrible last time it would be smart to leave it alone. Concentrate on the real world. Let it be a mystery. Not go back.

He dreams about music, wild music: pipes and strings and drums. Fire flickers and dancers whirl around him. He dreams that he joins them, and Shiro’s hands are the ones that pull him into the dance.

 

* * *

 

Keith is lost. He started out following the same path as last time, but found himself somewhere unfamiliar. The trees around him are black-leafed and thorny. He’s heard creatures skittering through the brush behind him, seen vague shapes flickering at the edge of his sight. There are _things_ in this forest, and they are not happy he’s here.

Worst of all, he’s _wet_. Keith is shivering, soaked through by the cold rain that started falling the moment he walked through the fairy ring.

“Shiro?” he calls. “Shiro. _Shiro_.” It feels silly, saying his name over and over again. Shiro’s probably not going to come. Someone else will find Keith here, and he’ll get eaten or something.

He’d considered bringing Dad’s old rifle with him, but didn’t feel comfortable with it. He ended up attaching his mom’s knife to his belt instead. He’s doesn’t know if it’ll be any help, but it’s sharp and bigger than his pocket knife. He feels better having something to defend himself with. The rifle would be more reassuring, though.

He fiddles with the apple blossoms on his wrist. They haven’t faded at all, just like the apple his father had hidden away. “Shiro,” he says under his breath. “Where the hell are you?”

“I can’t say I didn’t want to see you again, but you shouldn’t have come back.”

Keith heart skips. He turns around so fast he almost loses his balance.

It’s Shiro, finally. He’s on horseback under the cover of a wide-branching tree, infuriatingly dry. “You look lost,” he says.

“Well, I’m not,” Keith says, a blatant lie.

“If you say so,” Shiro grins. He dismounts, waving Keith over under the tree. It doesn’t help much. Water’s still dripping down Keith’s neck. “What are you doing here?”

“I was -” Keith searches for a good answer and ends up blurting out the truth: “Looking for you. I wanted to see you.”

“Oh,” Shiro looks pleased, then serious. “I mean it, though. There are a lot of things here that would be happy to eat you.”

Keith really wishes he’d brought the rifle after all. He waves the wrist with the flowers at Shiro. “Then why did you practically invite me back?”

“I,” Shiro starts. He blushes a little. “You were really - I don’t know. I liked you. From the moment I saw you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Keith says, tucking a damp strand of hair behind his ear.

Shiro looks at him, earnest. “But I’d like to.”

The only thing Keith can say to that is: “I’d like that, too.”

They stare at each other. Shiro clears his throat. “You’re cold,” he says. Unclasping his cloak he wraps it around Keith’s shoulders. Instantly he’s dry and warm and Shiro is the one soaked by rain, hair plastered to his forehead. He gets back on the horse, offering Keith a hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go somewhere more pleasant.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro brings him to a garden. It’s not the Queen’s garden, but it’s beautiful, somewhere between wild and well-tended, a riot of colors and strange blooms.

“So,” Keith says. “You wanted to get to know me.”

“I do,” Shiro says, looking at him with big, eager eyes.

“Well.” Keith leans in a little, noting with a warm, fizzy feeling how Shiro’s attention flicks to his mouth. “What would you like to know?”

He gives Shiro an edited version of his life: growing up in the desert, losing his dad, ending up with the house. Shiro listens with a rapt attention that leaves Keith feeling both flattered and shy.

“What about you?” he says, trying to change the subject.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Tell me about you.”

“I’m - I’m Shiro,” he gestures to himself. “I’m just what you see here.” His eyes flicker. “Queen’s Champion.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“I’m her chief knight. I have a high rank in her court. I do whatever she asks of me. I just… follow orders. You know,” he shrugs. “Knight stuff.”

Keith laughs, “Knight stuff?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. His hand falls on Keith’s knee. Keith lets it stay there.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “Knight stuff, or whatever it is you do?”

Shiro is silent for a long moment. His mouth twists into something that’s not quite a smile. “Not really.”

Keith dares to rest his own hand on top of Shiro’s. “Then why don’t you stop?”

“Queen Honerva. King Zarkon.” He looks over his shoulder as though just saying their names will make them pop up behind him. “They’re very powerful. They’ve ruled Faerie for thousands of years. Once you’re in their service, there’s no leaving it. She wants me to be her Champion. So. I am.”

“Can’t you leave? If I can cross into your world, then you-”

Shiro shakes his head. “It’s not possible,” he says, low.

“Okay,” Keith says. Neither of them seems to know what to say. He looks around, searching for another topic. “This place is - ”

_Dead. Dying. Grass shriveled and brown, trees reduced to withered stumps._

He blinks. Everything is green and bursting with life. Shiro is looking at him curiously. “Something else,” Keith says, sounding strangled even to his own ears. “This place is something else.” He feels nauseous. Vertigo almost knocks him over and he puts his head between his knees.

“Keith? What’s wrong?”

He looks at Shiro and starts. His hair has a shock of white in it. His face is scarred. The hand that’s reaching, concerned, for Keith is liquid silver. He shuts his eyes tightly, opens them again. Shiro’s hair is black, his skin unmarred. His hand is warm and reassuring on Keith’s arm. “Nothing,” he gasps. “Sorry. I just got dizzy all of a sudden.”

Shiro still looks worried. “You didn’t eat anything here, did you? Nothing bit you?”

“No,” Keith says. “I’m fine, Shiro, really.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe this was a bad idea after all. I should take you home.”

Keith groans. “Don’t be stupid,” he says.

Shiro protests: “If anything happens to you, it’ll be my fault.”

“It was my choice to coming back,” Keith says. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He rubs his face. “I’m fine. Just, everything looked weird for a second. Like it was all dead.” _You looked different, too_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“Oh,” Shiro says. He glances around. “The glamour must be failing. This is Lady Ladnok’’s garden. She’d rather enchant it than maintain it. It’s easier than actually taking care of stuff. You get used to it.”

“You didn’t notice anything?” Keith wants to ask about the scar, the white hair. He wants to know why Shiro feels the need to use a glamour on himself. He swallows his curiosity for now.

“No,” Shiro says, face dimpling with a smile. “I was looking at you.”

They talk. Shiro gives him a series of basic guidelines on surviving in Faerie: Never tell anyone his full name. Accept no gifts. Make no bargains. Never be led into a dance. Eat nothing, drink nothing. Not following these guidelines can result in all sorts of terrible fates, Shiro says: death, enslavement, being turned to stone for a thousand years.

Keith thinks of the golden apple, still sitting in his kitchen, and blanches.

It’s unusual for Keith to want to go on talking and talking, but he protests when Shiro ends their conversation. He takes Keith back to the crossing, apologizing for cutting their time short and giving another warning. Spend too much time in Faerie and he might return to the human world to find centuries have passed, and then crumble into dust.

“Oh,” Keith says. “Yeah, I guess that would be bad.”

“Trust me, I’d love for you to stay longer.” Shiro squeezes Keith’s arm, smiling down at him. “You know,” he says, eyes dark. “You paid twice last time. One trip, two tolls.” Shiro is very close now, his fingers tilting up Keith’s chin. “I thought it’d be polite to give one back.”

Keith gapes a little, then says, daring: “Keep it.” Shiro looks dismayed; Keith decides to take pity on him. “For now,” he adds. “Maybe you can return it next time.”

Shiro recovers himself. He bows a little. “I’ll treasure it.”

 

* * *

 

He does let Shiro return the kiss the next time. And the next, and the one after that.

They try to arrange it so Shiro will be waiting for Keith whenever he crosses over, but time running unpredictably in Faerie means they don’t always get it right. When Keith walks out of the desert summer the glade is empty, so Keith calls for him and sits on a fallen log to wait. He always feels a little nervous - what if he’s calling Shiro at a bad time, interrupting something important? - but Shiro always looks happy to see him.

A flock of crows settles in the trees. Keith watches them caw back and forth.

One flutters down. It peers at him with five yellow eyes.

“Sorry, buddy,” Keith says. “I don’t have any food for you.”

Croaking at Keith, it rises up, stretching into a tall almost-human figure with a pale beak protruding from a dark hood. It moves strangely, fluid and boneless, right at him.

Keith shoots to his feet. “What the hell-? Who are you?”

Looming closer to Keith, it reaches out with too-long fingers and touches his face. Keith jerks back, stumbling away. He reaches blindly for his knife and brandishes it. The creature stops, tilting its head. With a whisper of wings, the other birds descend from the trees and begin to transform.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps. “Shiro, _Shiro_ , I need you here _right now_ \- ”

“Keith?”

The creatures vanish, dissipating into smoke.

Keith lowers his unsteady hand, tucks the knife back into its sheath. Shiro rushes over and takes Keith’s face in his hands. “Are you all right?” he asks urgently. “Did they do anything to you?”

Keith shakes his head. “What the hell _were_ they?”

“Servants of the queen,” he says, looking grim. “Her spies. They’ll tell her about you. About us.”

“Will you get in trouble because of me?”

“I’ll be fine,” Shiro says.

“Then why do you look so worried?”

“I’m not!” he says, then, more calmly: “I’m not. I’m not very - sociable at court. It’s odd for me to be spending so much time with someone. They were probably just curious.”

Keith leans his full weight against Shiro. “I hope so. But if they come back and eat me I blame you.”

Shiro laughs nervously. “Let’s not let it spoil our day,” he says. “I’m taking you somewhere nice.”

He takes Keith to a sunlit valley with blue mountains rising up on every side. A stream bisects it; mist drifting off the water catches the light and turns it into something solid. They lay on their backs in a field of tall green grass, Keith’s head pillowed on Shiro’s chest. He takes Shiro’s hand, running his thumb along the lines of his palm, idly noting how big his hands are compared to Keith’s.

Shiro’s hand almost looks silver in the light. Keith glances up at his face.

“Something wrong?” Shiro asks.

Keith can see the scar on his nose again, the white creeping into his hair. He slides their fingers together. “No,” he says, blinking until Shiro’s hand is flesh-colored again, his face unblemished. “It’s nothing.”

He wants, again, to ask Shiro about the glamour, to tell him he doesn’t need it around Keith, but he’s afraid to touch on a sore subject. This thing between them is still new. Keith swallows his questions and rolls on top of him. He and Shiro have more interesting things to do.

 

 

 _"If my love were an earthly knight,_  
_As he's an elfin grey,_  
_I would not give my one true-love_ _  
For any lord you have.”_

Child Ballad 39A, simplified


	2. An Eerie Tale to Tell

_"And pleasant is the fairy land,_  
_But, an eerie tale to tell,_  
_Aye, at the end of seven years,_  
_We pay a tithe to hell,_  
_I am so fair and full of flesh,_  
_I'm afraid it’ll be myself.”_

Child Ballad 39A, simplified

 

Shiro’s opponent fights well, but he begs for his life in the end. The best Shiro can do is make his death a quick one. 

He’d rather not compete in the midsummer tournament, but he excels at war games and it pleases the Queen when he represents her well.

The only thing fairies love more than bloodshed is revelry, and all the better if the two are combined. The matches never fail to draw a crowd, and Shiro and his unlucky opponent are ringed by midsummer partiers. They’re all drunk and a little disappointed - Shiro’s not making things very entertaining. He always tries to end the matches as swiftly as possible, taking no joy in drawing it out as others do. The royals and their courtiers watch from a dais. Shiro tries not to look at them.

Each fight is to the death.

This is his least favorite of his many tasks as the Queen’s right hand. The challengers are young and brash, looking to prove themselves. The beasts are beautiful, strange, deadly. Killing them is a waste.

Shiro hates fighting prisoners the most.

The laws of Fairyland are numerous and strange, and neither King nor Queen is known for mercy. Their dungeons are always full of thieves, oathbreakers, trespassers, lords the King suspects of plotting to overthrow him, ladies whose youth and beauty offend the Queen. Anything that draws their displeasure is punishable by execution. In lieu of a trial, each one is given the chance to fight for his or her freedom. Sometimes the prisoner is allowed a blade. Sometimes they face opponents with only their hands. 

His fallen adversary’s body is dragged away and set upon by hungry-looking redcaps in the crowd. Shiro wipes iridescent blue blood from his sword. 

His turn in the ring over, he watches the rest of the round. Two prisoners die at the hands of their opponents. Shiro’s guiltily grateful he won’t have to face them. A fire-drake swallows a goblin whole. A young knight hesitates on a killing blow and her competitor turns her to stone. 

Shiro’s name is called for the next round. He faces an ogre twice his size wielding a glowing club. Shiro wins.

He’s been the tournament’s victor seven years running.

He fights a barghest, then a redcap, and then, the combatants down to two, reaches the final match. The audience, whipped into a frenzy, howls for blood.

Shiro takes a moment to catch his breath, readying for the last bout. A trow. Not an easy opponent, but weaker in daylight. This one must be very confident in his fighting prowess to compete on the longest day of the year. Shiro steps back into the ring.

There’s a sickening _thump_ as a headless body is thrown in front of him. Shiro stares. Gasps rise from the audience. 

Sendak pushes his way through the crowd. He’s wearing red and silver armor, a heavy battleaxe in one hand. He bares his teeth in an approximation of a grin. “Forgive me for the intrusion. I couldn’t help but join in the fun.” He steps over the body of the trow. “I think that was the last one. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Shiro grits his teeth. “Sendak. I didn’t know you’d signed up for the tournament,” he says, on edge. 

“I didn’t. But I’ve been hoping to challenge you to a friendly match, and I got impatient.. You’ve been hard to find lately, Champion.” He looks around at their audience, who shout his name excitedly; they don’t seem to mind the interruption.

Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up. “Friendly,” he says. Sendak trying to kill him isn’t much of a surprise. Shiro had expected it to happen eventually, but he wouldn’t have thought Sendak would make such a production of it. 

Sendak gives him an ironic bow. “On my honor,” he promises, eyes narrow, paw over his heart. “We fight only to first blood.” He turns to the dais. “If their Majesties allow, of course.”

Zarkon waves an indifferent hand. Shiro meets the Queen’s eyes beseechingly, but she nods her approval at Sendak.

He grins toothily, then attacks.

The crowd roars. Shiro barely brings his sword up in time to deflect the blow. Sendak swings again immediately, this time at Shiro’s knees. He dodges back and they circle each other warily. 

He’s bigger than Shiro - a _lot_ bigger. Faster and stronger, too. Shiro adjusts his grip. They clash again; Shiro manages to slice off a bit of fur from his arm.

The headless challenger’s body is still laying in the way. Shiro’s feet keep slipping in the blood. 

“You finish them off so quickly. You really ought to put on more of a show,” Sendak says. mockingly, his usually booming voice low enough that their audience can’t hear him. “One might think you don’t have the stomach for it.”

They trade blows. Shiro’s bones ring with the force of each of Sendak’s swings. “You’re - talkative today,” he grunts, striking back. He’s slower than he should be, but he’s tired. He’s been fighting all day.

Sendak isn’t even winded. “I’ve had a bit to drink,” he says, smirking. “It gets me in the mood for a good fight.” Another slash and they retreat again, eyeing one another for weaknesses. “I’ve noticed you don’t indulge much, Champion. I might have to start, if I were you.”

Ah. Sendak has something he wants to taunt Shiro with. Fantastic. “Get to the point,” Shiro snarls.

“You haven’t heard?” Sendak flips his axe to his other hand, and throws a punch that nearly takes off Shiro’s head.

He doesn’t respond, rubbing his jaw. Sendak rightly takes his silence as confusion.

“You’ve forgotten? It’s a tithing year, Champion.” 

The tithe.

It’s a ritual Shiro’s only heard of. Zarkon and Honerva are old, unimaginably so. To restore their youth, a fairy life is sacrificed every seven years. Shiro’s never been there for it, for which he’s grateful; it sounds gruesome.

“What does that have to do with me?” he snaps. 

Sendak chuckles and lunges again, his axe whistling by just inches from Shiro’s face. “You know the kind of service she demands. You think she hasn’t noticed your heart hasn’t been in it, lately?” He catches Shiro’s return blow on his greaves, sparks flying where metal meets metal. “Who do you think it will be this time, Champion? Some unlucky prisoner? One of her ladies? Someone young and hale who’s not quite as high in her favor as he used to be?”

“What are you trying to say?” Shiro snaps. 

“You’re not worried at all?” He drags his axe along the ground, blade scraping horribly against stone. “You think she doesn’t know about your little friend?”

Shiro blanches and Sendak attacks again. He catches the axe with his blade, but Sendak doesn’t pull back, bearing down until Shiro’s arms burn with the strain.

It’s been weeks since the crows cornered Keith. She hasn’t said anything. He’s been hoping against hope that the crows were a fluke, that they hadn’t told her, or that she hadn’t cared. He’s hardly the first to have relations with a human - it used to be a mark of status, to have a human bride. But he is the Queen’s above all else, and she doesn’t like to share.

“Tell me about him, Champion. Is he the one you hid from me that day?” He presses harder. “A pity. I enjoy a good chase.”

Shiro’s feet slip. Sendak’s axe swings down, and Shiro rolls to avoid it ending up lodged in his shoulder. His sword flies from his hand.

The crowd roars. 

Shiro rests on one knee, breathing hard. He waits to feel cold metal biting through his neck.

It doesn’t come.

Sendak leans down and grabs his face, claws biting in. “A disappointing match. I’ll enjoy watching her eat your heart.” The audience yells his name. Ignoring them, he leaves.

Shiro can’t move. It was something he had never considered. All of his worry had been for Keith; it had never occurred to Shiro the Queen might punish _him_. He looks up at the dais. The King’s face is stormy and grim as always. The Queen’s eyes are fixed on Shiro. Does she look angry? Or is Shiro only seeing that because of Sendak’s insinuations?

He breaks her gaze, dragging himself to his feet. He can’t let Sendak get to him. He needs to see Keith.

 

* * *

 

It’s hard to think about his problems when Keith’s squirming and laughing as Shiro presses kisses down his neck. 

Sometimes Shiro likes to show off, magicking them up a tent filled with swinging golden lamps, piles of pillows and plush velvet to lounge on. Today they’re more casual, curled up around each other in a quiet bit of forest.

Keith is full of distractions: how pink he turns when Shiro calls him pet names - _sweetheart, darling,_ _baby_ ; the sound he makes when Shiro touches him just _there_.

For all his spirit there’s something shy in the way he yields to Shiro, something that doesn’t quite believe that Shiro wants him, wants his body, his heart, his soul - anything he’s willing to give. There’s an uncertainty Shiro longs to turn to playfulness under his coaxing hands.

Shiro wants to kiss him until his mouth is bruised with it

Keith had sensed right away that Shiro was upset. He’d explained about the tournament, omitting the fight with Sendak. Keith seemed to think Shiro was troubled about being made to fight to the death, and any other time Shiro would have been. He would have agonized over all the terrible things he’d done at the Queen’s command.

He used to face each fight half-hoping someone would finally best him, before Keith. 

Now, half-drunk on him, Shiro leans against a mossy tree with Keith practically in his lap. _I love him_ , he thinks, and shivers. _What do I want from this?_ Shiro hasn’t dared to put words to it. He knows he can’t promise Keith forever, but, God, he wants it.

“Keith,” he says. “I - I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

Keith’s eyes are so wide, so filled with faith in him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m human,” he says. 

Keith blinks. “What?” he says, sitting back a little. “You’re-?”

“I _was_ human,” Shiro corrects himself. He sighs heavily, rubbing his face. “It’s getting harder and harder to remember,” he admits. “But I was - I was a pilot. A good one. Until I found out I had a disease.” His past exists in his mind as a series of flashes: a classroom full of uniformed cadets with heads bent over an exam; a poster in a doctor’s office; an instructor yelling during bootcamp; the cold silence of the stars. “My arm had to be amputated. I lost my career, everything.” Shiro risks a glance at Keith. “I was desperate. I would do - reckless things. One day I left the Garrison, just headed out in the desert with no plan… I heard bells, horses, people talking - I thought I was hallucinating.” 

“Shiro - “

“It was a raiding party. They captured me and brought me here - they do that sometimes,” Shiro says dully, “Go out and bring back humans for slaves.”

“You don’t do that.” Keith says softly

“No, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I’m not allowed to go back there. She wants me to forget everything that came before. Sometimes I can’t even remember my real name.”

Keith settles close again, hand seeking his. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. There’s an honest kind of understanding in his eyes that puts a lump in Shiro’s throat. Keith had given him a version of his own history that Shiro’s certain was edited to sound better than it was. “That sounds horrible.”

Shiro laughs, soft and mirthless. “It’s not fun.” His free hand tugs at the ends of Keith’s hair. “But I always know who I am when I’m with you.” He leans in, breathes it into the shell of Keith’s ear: “My name was Takashi Shirogane.”

 _“Takashi Shirogane.”_

It sends a thrill through him to hear it repeated in Keith’s soft, rough voice. 

“Takashi,” he says again. “Shiro, if you were a slave, how did you become - this?”

“Well, I wasn’t a very good slave - ”

Keith snorts.

“I ended up imprisoned. There’s - ” he sighs. “The tournament I told you about earlier? How prisoners can compete to earn their freedom?”

Keith nods.

“I fought,” Shiro says. “I won.”

Keith’s fingers tighten on his.

“This beautiful woman came to me, congratulated me. She said she was the Queen. She seemed so kind. When she asked me what I needed, I said I wanted to live. I wanted be whole again. I said I’d do anything.” He takes a breath. “She said she’d give me whatever I wanted if I would serve her.”

Keith is quiet for a while and Shiro dreads his judgement, but all Keith says is: “So you were at the Garrison?”

Shiro pauses, wrongfooted. That’s what Keith took from his story? “You know it?”

“I live near there.” Keith says. He looks at Shiro with wide eyes and gives a startled laugh. “You know,” he continues. “When I was younger I used to kind of want to go there. My grades were terrible, though, plus I had a record. I never would’ve gotten in. Some stuffed-shirt came and tried to recruit kids from my class one day.” His fingers squeeze Shiro’s and he looks up, rolling his eyes. “I can’t even image myself at some uptight military school. God, that’d be a disaster.”

Shiro used to do those visits. For a moment he thinks he remembers - a kid in a red hoodie, flatly refusing to join in - but the thought drifts away.

Keith sits up, abruptly. He whirls around to glare at Shiro. “You’re human! There are so many things we could’ve been talking about! I haven’t been bringing them up because I thought you wouldn’t understand, like, what a hoverbike is.”

“I mean, it’s been a while - ”

“Not _that_ long, if you went to the Garrison.”

“Well, what year is it out there?”

Keith tells him.

“Seven years, then,” Shiro says. “This’ll be my seventh year here.” It feels like it’s been seven hundred. He looks at his left hand, makes a fist. He lets, for just a moment, the glamour drop that smooths out the scars on his body, darkens his hair, and makes the enchanted arm indistinguishable from the real one.

Strangely, Keith doesn’t look surprised at the change, just solemnly traces the scar on his nose. “I wish you could come home with me,” he says. “I miss you when I’m away.” 

“Me too, baby,” Shiro whispers. He catches Keith’s hand, kisses his palm. “You’re the only thing that makes me happy.”

Keith’s face creases, and he lays his head back down on Shiro’s shoulder. “Sometimes I wish I could stay here with you,” he confesses.

“Keith - ”

“I know, I know. I can’t. I just - It’s like I just spend all my time waiting to come back here and see you.”

Guilt and fear pierce Shiro through. For some, going to Faerie can be intoxicating - ever after nothing in the human world will satisfy. They waste away. Is this his fault? Even if the Queen lets them be, has Shiro ruined Keith anyway?

 _What are we doing?_ he thinks. Is it worth risking both their lives for these few brief meetings? 

Sometimes he hates himself for drawing the Queen’s attention. If he were anyone else, not a knight, not the Champion, but just some run-of-the-mill wood-spirit, he could see Keith whenever and no one would care. He could cross over and see Keith in the human world - 

If he hadn’t been so stupid, he might have _met_ Keith in the human world.

Keith asks, as though it hurts him: “What can we do?”

There’s no comforting lie Shiro can tell. “I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

It always starts in his chest, just above his heart. It settles in his blood, rushes to his fingertips, his toes, his brain. There, it burns: the soft, insistent summons of the spell Shiro gave Keith, his name on Keith’s tongue. His real name, lately, more often than not.

Keith’s is not the only voice that has power over him. As the Queen’s Champion, Shiro is her right hand, and she calls on him frequently. As careful as he and Keith try to be at scheduling their meetings, sometimes their summons come at the same time.

As much as Shiro’d like to drop everything and go to Keith, the Queen must be answered first. He hopes whatever she wants him for won’t take so long that Keith gives up waiting for him and goes home. He likes it when Keith lingers at the border between worlds until Shiro meets him with a mouth full of apologies and eyes only for him.

Though Zarkon’s palace is high on a craggy mountaintop, pointed spires stretching to the heavens, Honerva prefers to rule from under the earth in a deep cavern of dark stone and darker crystal. 

Her palace is full of endless grottoes, thin, arching bridges, and pools of glowing water. Shiro heads to the central receiving hall. Guards bow and swing open the doors for him. The wild, skirling sound of a fiddle greets him. There’s a party underway, because there’s always a party in Faerie. The hall is thronged with beings of all possible shapes and colors, dancing, drinking, fighting. Some turn to look at him as he shoulders his way through to the throne. Through the music, the talking and shouting, Shiro can hear a dark undercurrent of laughter that he has an uneasy suspicion is aimed at him. 

He ignores it, squaring his shoulders as he approaches the Queen. He bows, hand over his heart. “My Lady,” he says. 

Honerva is beautiful, dark and sharp-featured. Her hair, a delicate shade of lavender, is pinned up and jeweled. 

“Champion,” she says. Her crows are perched all around her - on lamps, on chair-backs, and even the a guard’s pike. One of the birds flutters to her shoulder, cawing. The Queen smiles, but Shiro is not reassured.

He straightens. “What do you need from me, Your Majesty?”

She rests her chin on one slim hand. “Merely your presence, Champion,” she says. “We’re having a party! You never come to my little get-togethers anymore. One might begin to suspect you’ve been avoiding me.” 

“I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression, my Lady. May I ask what we’re celebrating?” 

“Must there be a reason?” She arches a brow. 

The bird on her shoulder croaks: “Prorok!” 

Shushing it, she strokes the crow with a finger. “If you must know, one of your fellow knights proved himself a disloyal spy. After such a disappointment I needed something to brighten my day.”

Shiro swallows. “That’s terrible, Your Majesty. Should I - ?”

“You needn’t worry yourself. Since you were not to be found, I took care of the problem myself.”

Shiro bites the inside of his mouth, keeping his expression as bland as he can. “Again, my Lady, if I’ve offended you I apologize. I’ve been so busy - ”

For a second, the smile drops, and Shiro can see the real her - the glamour of youth and beauty vanishing. She’s shriveled, bony, clawed. Her skin is dull purple, her eyes taken over by a harsh yellow. 

“Too busy for a little fun?” she says, her voice a little less sweet than before. “You take your duties so seriously, Champion. Relax. Enjoy the company.” Her eyes flick over his shoulder. “I think I have something to entice you to stay.”

Shiro feels a hand slip into his, a gentle tug trying to pull him into the crowd of dancers. His head turns. His heart stops. It’s Keith - but not Keith. All in black, dressed for court. His eyes are catlike and too-purple, his teeth sharp. There’s something wicked in his smile. “Dance with me, Shiro,” he - _it_ \- says.

For a long moment Shiro is horrified. Then he realizes - it isn’t Keith. It’s just a stock, a piece of wood enchanted with the appearance of a living being, made by someone who clearly doesn’t know Keith as Shiro does. It’s beautiful but _wrong_ , all ice and no fire. 

When it can’t entice him to dance, it presses close and kisses him, soft and sweet. Automatically Shiro’s hand drifts up, threads through the blue-black hair. The not-Keith bites his lip, hard. The taste of blood brings Shiro back to his senses. He shoves the stock away.

It pouts. 

From her throne, the Queen laughs. The music stills and the dancers stop their movement, turning to see what amused her. She crooks a finger and the not-Keith goes to her, settling at her feet. “I hope you can forgive my little joke,” she says. She tilts the glamour’s face this way and that. It stares up at her adoringly. “He’s very lovely,” she allows. “I can see why he caught your eye.” The crow on her shoulder makes a soft noise. 

Shiro fists his hands at his sides. Even though he knows it’s not really Keith, his heart still clenches at the sight of her fingers on his slender neck. With some effort he dispels the enchantment; the mockery of Keith dissolves, and a chunk of wood falls to the ground.

“I heard rumors,” Honerva says. “That my Champion had taken a lover. And a mortal, at that. I did not believe it. You never so much as looked twice at any member of the court, no matter how they threw themselves at you. I always thought you cold.” 

One of her birds lands next to the piece of wood, pecking at it. 

“I knew you would not be fooled by a silly enchantment,” she says. “But it seems your lover is more easily deceived.”

Shiro feels dizzy. “What?”

She waves a hand and a servant appears at his shoulder and hands him a mirror. In it, Keith’s face comes into focus. He’s not alone. Shiro is with him.

He realizes with dawning horror that she has also sent a double of him to Keith. The fake him is biting into a golden apple. It smiles, and offers one to Keith. Shiro’s world slows down as he watches Keith’s trusting hand reach for it.

He’d warned Keith about the dangers, he should know better! But he’d broken so many other rules with Shiro - what’s one more?

It would be a lie to say it hadn’t crossed his mind, how little it would take to bind Keith to him. A bite of fruit, a sip of wine and Keith would never leave him again. They could have forever. But he would be trapped here, never to return to the human world. Just like Shiro.

He would rather never see Keith again than doom him to the same fate.

“Stop this,” he gasps, hands trembling. “Stop-”

Keith is saying something to the not-Shiro, who laughs and kisses him. Here, under the Queen’s cold scrutiny, Shiro burns. 

“Stop?” she says. “My dear, I am merely looking out for you. If this mortal loved you as you believe, wouldn’t he have rejected the illusion as you did?” Her voice turns soft and persuasive. “He is not worthy of you.” Rising from her throne she puts a motherly hand to his face. “How can I let my Champion give himself to a human who cannot tell the difference between - ”

He knocks away her hand. The courtiers gasp and mutter, half-shocked by his disrespect, half-envious they aren’t brave enough to defy her themselves.

Honerva draws back; the air grows icy, as does her expression. Her eyes flash and he feels the coils of enchantment twining around his limbs, forcing him to his knees. Inwardly, he struggles, but the grip of her magic is rigid as stone. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself saying. “My lady, please forgive me-” He fights the compulsion without success, aware of jealous courtiers laughing, pleased to see him humiliated.

“Well?” she says, and he feels the pressure lift a little. 

His mouth works again. Biting his tongue until he tastes blood, Shiro swallows his pride. “Please,” he chokes out. “Please stop this. Leave him alone.” He stays on his knees. He’ll beg for Keith’s life if he has to, though he’s afraid of what she’ll demand in return.

Her eyes glitter. “Since you’ve asked so nicely…” 

In the mirror, something changes - the fake Shiro’s eyes glow purple, its smile turns cruel. It draws its blade.

“No!” Shiro cries.

She laughs again. The impostor turns to shadow and drifts away on the wind. Shiro only catches a glimpse of Keith’s bewildered face before the mirror shatters. 

 

* * *

 

He stumbles from the hall, past the laughing partiers, past the door-guards, into the winding corridors. He moves blindly, desperately, and when someone steps in front of him to block his path, he nearly collides with them. 

It’s another of the Queen’s knights, a pale fairy with a pointed face. Shiro thinks his name is Ulaz. “Get out of my way,” he growls.

Ulaz just looks at him, impassive, and takes him by the arm. “Come with me,” he says softly, steering Shiro in a different direction. 

“Where - ” Shiro starts.

“Not here,” Ulaz says. 

Shiro digs in his heels. “I don’t have time for this,” he says. He needs to make sure Keith is okay. 

Ulaz makes an impatient noise under his breath. “You’re right,” he says. “You don’t have time.” He looks Shiro squarely in the eye. “Do you want to be free to be with him?”

Shiro searches the other fairy’s face for any hint of mockery, feeling the fight drain out of him. 

Ulaz’s stony expression gentles. “Then come with me.”

He brings them to a part of the underground castle Shiro’s not familiar with: a half-finished tunnel with jagged walls and sharp crystals protruding from the floor. A guard meets Ulaz’s eyes as they pass. She gives a tiny nod, then continues on as though she doesn’t even see them. Ulaz taps the crystals in a complicated pattern and a door appears in the wall. “Not everyone is as loyal to the crown as they seem,” he murmurs, ushering Shiro through.

They walk through narrower and narrower passages until they reach what seems to be a natural cavern, dimly lit by a colony of glowing cave worms. There’s someone already in there waiting, cloaked all in black, face shadowed.

Shiro stops when he sees them, but Ulaz pushes him forward. Shiro approaches, slowly. “Who are you?” he demands. “Why have you brought me here?”

“We’re here to help you,” Ulaz says behind him. Shiro glances back. He’s leaning against the cave wall, arms crossed. 

The cloaked figure speaks: “For a long time we were not sure what to think of you, Champion.” It’s a woman’s voice. “It’s been hard to tell where your true loyalties lie. But recent events have show that there’s more to you than being the queen’s attack dog.” 

“Look,” Shiro says. “I don’t want to get involved in - ”

“We’re not asking you to,” the woman interrupts. “I’ll get to the point. There is a way for you to be freed from this place.” She steps into his space. “A very old way. A long time has passed since anyone attempted it.” Her head tilts and Shiro gets the impression she’s measuring him up. “But I must know: do you love him? The human boy?”

“What?” Shiro rocks back. “Keith? I - Yes. I do.”

“Does he love you?”

Shiro swallows. “I think so.”

“Breaking her power over you - It will be difficult and dangerous. Especially for him. And there will be only one chance.” Pushing back her hood, she reveals a face that’s purple, striped, vaguely familiar. She stares at Shiro, hard. 

He swallows. “Why are you telling me this?” He knows better than to expect a good deed done freely - everything in Faerie comes at a price. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to succeed,” she says. To his surprise, her face goes soft and wistful. “I once loved a man from the human world. I want you to have a better chance than we did.” She closes her eyes. “Now tell me, Champion. Are you willing to try?”

 

* * *

 

“What do you _mean_ this our only shot?” 

Keith doesn’t seem to be getting it, and Shiro’s sure he hasn’t done the best job of explaining. He’s been breathless and manic, gripping Keith by the arms and buzzing with energy. It’s probably overwhelming Keith on an already alarming day. When Shiro’d arrived, Keith had been so sure the impostor had come back he’d nearly stabbed him. The news that some strangers convinced Shiro of some miraculous escape plan is too much. 

“What the hell makes you think these people can be trusted? It’s probably a trick!” Keith is visibly vibrating with leftover adrenaline. “Can’t we - I don’t know - take a minute to think about this? Find out more?” His voice cracks.

It’s old tradition whose logic only makes sense to those already familiar with the strange laws that govern the inhuman: a single opportunity to rescue loved ones spirited away into Faerie. There’s only one night in particular it can be done: the night of what Shiro calls the summer’s-end festival, Samhain. Or, as Keith knows it, Halloween - the night when the veil between worlds is thin, and the Wild Hunt rides through the mortal realm. 

Keith looks terrified, which Shiro can understand. If it’s not a trick, if the strange fairies told Shiro the truth, then this really is their only chance to be together - and everything depends on Keith. 

Halloween night, Shiro will ride with the Hunt, along with the King and Queen and a whole host of other fairies looking to cause mischief in the human realm. From there, Keith has a series of simple steps to follow: Find Shiro in the crowd. Pull him from the horse. Hold Shiro through seven transformations until he’s himself again. Do. Not. Let. Go.

There are a million little things that can go wrong: What if these fairies who tipped Shiro off got it wrong? What if Keith gets caught by the Hunt? What if he can’t find Shiro?

What if he can’t hold on?

 _He will_. Shiro is sure of it. He tries not to be exasperated. He shouldn’t have expected Keith to be as excited as he is. “It’s not like I can go around asking questions - ” Ulaz and his companion had made it clear laying low will be his best option.

“I get that,” Keith pulls away, hugging his arms around himself. “I do. Just - How can there be no chance to try again? Not even the next year?”

“Keith,” Shiro moves in close again, taking him by the shoulders. The manic energy is draining out of him. He sighs. “Even if there was, I might not - ” he struggles with the words. “I might not be around to try next year.”

Keith pales. “What are you saying?” 

Grimly, Shiro tells him about the tithe and Sendak’s taunts. He tells Keith that Ulaz, before Shiro left, confirmed he’d heard the rumors, too. Keith’s eyes get wider and wider. Shiro regrets bringing it up. He tries to reassure Keith, unconvincingly: “I mean, not that I believe them. It’s probably nothing we need to worry about.”

“So if I fuck this up, you’re not only going to be stuck here forever, you’re going to be - what, _eaten_?” A hysterical little laugh bursts out of Keith and he claps a hand over his mouth. His eyes are growing alarmingly red.

Shiro gives him a helpless shrug. 

Keith rubs his face. When he speaks he sounds close to tears, his voice cracking: “Shiro, please. I _can’t_. I can’t be the reason - ! ”

“Keith - ”

“I’ll never see you again and it’ll be all my fault!”

“Sweetheart,” Shiro says. His hands go to Keith’s face. “Please,” he says, thumb brushing Keith’s mouth. “Don’t fall apart now. I need you.

“God, Shiro - ”

“You can do it,” he insists. “You _will._ All you have to do is hold on.”

Keith shuts his eyes, tears falling despite his obvious efforts at holding them back. He clenches a trembling hand into Shiro’s hair, burying his face in his neck. 

Shiro’s arms go around him. “Baby,” he says softly into the top of Keith’s head. “I love you. No matter what.”

Keith makes a small, strangled noise. Voice rough, he promises: “I’ll do it. I’ll hold on. As many times as it takes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect Part 3 next weekend :)


	3. The Mirk and Midnight Hour

_"Just at the mirk and midnight hour_  
_The fairy folk will ride,_  
_And they that would their true-love win,_  
_At Miles Cross they must bide."_

Child Ballad 39A, simplified

 

Autumn comes. The desert sun gets a little less hot, and the nights almost cold. The tree in front of the house turns gold and loses its leaves. The stores in town are plastered with pumpkins and ghosts.

Keith works on the house. He makes spaces for Shiro, hoping soon Shiro will be there to fill them. He buys a real bed. He waits. All he can do is turn their last meeting over and over again in his mind.

They got one last kiss.

He and Shiro reluctantly agreed that continuing to meet would only end badly, so it was the last one they’ll be able to share until the night the Hunt rides. Keith tries not to dwell on it, but the truth never leaves his mind: if he fails, they’ll never get a chance again. 

Keith waits.

His life dry and colorless without Shiro in it, Keith has had little else to do. Waiting is a bitter thing. Sometimes it seems like his whole life has been one long disappointing wait after another: for his dad to come back from that last fire, for the foster families to love him, for his mother to finally come home.

He hopes this one will have a happier ending.

* * *

The sky is starry and clear. A sliver of yellow moon hangs low on the horizon. It’s quieter than it should be, no insects chirping and buzzing, no coyotes howling. All Keith can hear is the soft crunching of his footsteps and the whisper of his breath. He wonders if the animals instinctively know what’s coming. 

It’s a long walk to the crossing, and it feels even longer at night. Nerves and the cool air keep him pulling his jacket tighter. No matter how carefully he sweeps his flashlight in front of him he still catches his feet on rocks. 

Keith’s current plan is to head to a rocky ridge near the cholla patch where he crosses over to Faerie. It’s high enough Keith should be able to see the Hunt coming from afar, and also has plenty of nooks for him to conceal himself in.

The last thing he wants is for the Hunt to find him first. Getting himself caught and spirited away won’t help Shiro at all.

It’s an uncomfortable bit of terrain to hike through even in the daytime, crowded with bushes and spiky agave. Worse, he keeps jumping at nothing. “Jesus, calm down,” he tells himself. “You’re gonna freak yourself out before anything’s even started.”

That sound’s just an airplane roaring overhead, the touch on his arm just a clinging spiderweb. That’s just his shadow dancing in the flashlight’s glow.

Although - shouldn’t that be behind him?

The shadow shrugs.

“What the - ?” he yelps, clapping a hand over his mouth. Shiro had said that the veil between worlds would be thin tonight. Apparently more than the Hunt are about.

Giggling, the shape detaches itself and melts into the night.

Keith bites his lip hard, swearing internally. Slowly, he turns around in a circle. A few more stray shadows slip away after the other one. “The fuck?” he breathes, heart pounding. Movement at his feet makes him jump. He swings the light down and sees spiders scuttling quickly in the direction opposite him. There are scorpions, too, Keith realizes. Lizards and snakes, as well. All heading back the way he came from. Bats squeak overhead. All are as panicked as the fairy animals that ran from Sendak’s hunters the day Keith met Shiro. He’s going the right way.

He starts to run, trying not to step on the fleeing animals. The playful shadows flicker at the edge of his vision. Then, what looks at first glance like a giant green ferret darts between his feet, tripping him. Keith stumbles and curses; something goes flying every which way. What look like dozens of tiny crystals scatter across the sand.

“Oh!” cries the creature. “Look what you’ve made me do!” Whatever he is, he’s definitely not a ferret. He has way too many limbs, for one, and appears to be wearing clothes. The creature puts his topmost set of hands to his head as the rest scrabble for his dropped gems. “Three, four, five,” he mutters, picking them up one by one and tucking them into a shoulder bag. “Sixteen, seventeen - Why are you going that way, human?” he asks, the tendrils on his chin twitching in a concerned way. “You will have a much greater chance of survival in the other direction!”

Keith stares. “Got it,” he says, picking himself up and continuing on. He can hear the creature still counting behind him. 

The ferret thing squawks, alarmed. He bounds after Keith, nearly knocking him over again. “Really!” he cries, gems in hand. “ _Forty-nine, fifty_ \- Going that way will be very bad for you! The Wild Hunt rides tonight, and if they catch you - ”

“I know,” Keith snaps. “Now get out of my way!” He sidesteps the creature. It stops him again.

“If you know,” he says. “Why are you -? Oh!” 

Keith growls. 

“A human traveling purposefully towards the Wild Hunt… Either you harbor some strange desire to be carried away,” he muses aloud. “Or someone rides with the Hunt that you mean to rescue.”

“Yes!” Keith says. “Now, move before I’m too late!”

“But that’s a terrible idea!” the creature cries. “Do you know what the chances are that - ”

Keith stomps past, not listening. The ferret creature moans and grumbles to himself: “I knew I would have trouble if I came this way!” He pursues Keith again. “Wait!” he cries. “You must help me count them all! If I lose even a single one - !” When Keith doesn’t come back, he adds, aggrieved: “I wouldn’t have dropped them if you hadn’t run into me!”

“You ran into me,” Keith grumbles, but the creature sounds so alarmed he feels guilty and heads back. Crouching down, he separates crystals into tens, counting quickly. 

“Oh, _thank_ you, human!” The creature says, using one of its hands to grab one of Keith’s and shake it vigorously. “You may call me Slav. You have no idea how - ” He pauses, blanching. “I’ve lost count!” He dumps out the gems he’s already collected, and begins frantically sorting them again. “Seven, eight, nine - ”

“Oh my God.” Keith rubs his temples. “I don’t have time for this!”

“There must be exactly one hundred and thirty-seven!” Slav frets. “If any are missing - ”

He looks terrified. Keith can’t help but ask: “What’ll happen?”

“I won’t have one hundred and thirty-seven anymore!” At Keith’s wide-eyed glare he defends himself: “It’s a very magical number! Essential for protection charms.”

Keith collects his handfuls of gems and shoves them at Slav. “There,” he snaps. “Sixty-five.”

“Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two!” Slav finishes calculating his triumphantly. “All there!” He adds them together and tucks them away. Relieved, he seizes Keith’s hand again, pumping it up and down. “Thank you so much, human -”

“Keith.”

“Keith! Since you have helped me, I will help you in return!” 

“Thanks,” Keith says, surprised. “Can you help me save Shiro?”

“Shiro is your friend who rides with the Hunt? The Wild Hunt who is riding towards this place this very second?” Slav’s voice rises. “The Wild Hunt who will, if they see either of us, capture or - !”

“ _Yes,_ ” Keith interrupts. “That one. _Can you help me_?”

“Hmm.” Slav looks away. “Nope. Sorry. You’ll have to ask for something else.”

“Whatever.” Keith rolls his eyes. “Just tell me, am I heading the right way?”

“Indeed you are,” the fairy says dolefully. “All the worse for you. They should follow the ley line just past that hill. Which is why all creatures with any kind of sense are heading _away_ from there.” He indicates a trio of pronghorn bounding past.

Faintly, in the distance, someone blows a horn. Slav jumps, all his fur standing on end.

Keith clenches his jaw. He’s wasted too much time. “Thanks,” he says, shortly. He turns on his heel and leaves Slav behind. He tries to move quickly to make up for the lost minutes, but the ground slopes up and gets rockier, slowing him. Over the hill a faint glow gets steadily brighter.

“Wait! Keith!” Slav yells. He’s caught up with Keith, his satchel of gems clutched protectively to his side.

“What now?” Keith refuses to stop for him this time. 

Slav keeps up with him, scrambling easily over the craggy ground. “Even though I will probably be caught by the Hunt and killed,” the fairy creature sighs. “You will have a _much_ higher chance of success if I am with you.”

“Oh,” Keith says, kind of touched that he came back. “Thank you,” he says. “Really.”

“It is no problem! I,” Slav says. “Am a Seelie fairy, and we consider it a great honor to be of assistance to humans. I am happy to help!” The way he says it makes it clear he very much isn’t.

The fairy jumps on Keith’s shoulders, clinging close as Keith heads toward the sound of horns. 

When they crest the ridge, Keith’s breath catches. There they are - the Wild Hunt. A long procession of unearthly riders races across the desert, preceded by a pack of baying black hounds. Slav makes a distressed noise

Keith turns off the flashlight. They skid down the steep rock face and crouch behind some fallen boulders. The host approaches, led by a massive figure on a horned beast that looks to be made only of bones. Keith swallows. That must be King Zarkon. His face is hidden behind a helm that looks like an antlered skull. A purple glow emanates from the eye sockets.

Behind the King, Keith catches a glimpse of a familiar horse: black with a white mane. Riding it is Shiro - Shiro in shining dark armor, Shiro raising a hunting horn to his lips. Keith jerks forward as he nears, but Slav wraps himself around his arm.

“Stop!” he hisses. 

Keith protests: “It’s Shiro!”

“It is not your friend,” Slav insists. “It’s an illusion! Can’t you see?” He claps a hand to his forehead. “Of course not,” he mutters. “You’re human!”

Keith clenches his fists, but the fairy has a point - something isn’t right. Staring hard into Shiro’s face, Keith wills the glamour to fade for him as it always did before, for the shock of white to appear in his hair, the scar to cut across his nose. They don’t. Instead, what Keith sees is a Shiro-shaped figure made entirely of wood.

It’s not him. It’s a trick, just like the fake Shiro that fooled him before. Desperately, Keith searches the faces of the others. There’s a horde of fairies of every imaginable appearance: tall, short, winged, feathered, scaled. Some run past him on foot, others on horseback or riding all manner of strange beasts. Those not wielding spears and bows carry torches lit by pale blue fire. None of them are Shiro. 

_He has to be there!_ Keith thinks desperately. _He promised!_

Slav tugs on his sleeve as the the last rider disappears into the darkness.

Keith jerks his arm away. He’s failed. _The tithe_ , he thinks. _Maybe she’s killed him already._ He drags himself to his feet, staring at the hunters’ light fading quickly into the distance. Should he run after them? Maybe he just missed Shiro in the crowd - 

Horns blare again behind him, and Slav yanks Keith back down. “Wait,” Slav says urgently. “The Hunt always rides in threes! It’s a powerful number, very lucky.” He grumbles to himself: “It’s a good thing I came after all; you’d have been caught twice over without me.”

Slav is right. Another set of riders comes thundering up. At the head is a hulking, furry form Keith recognizes - Sendak. Behind him, carrying a banner, is another Shiro. This one is stern-faced and dressed in silvery white. He looks like a prince, a silver circlet on his brow. 

Keith starts to stand, but Slav holds him down, shaking his head. “Not this one, either,” he says. 

Keith grits his teeth. “Are you sure?”

“Was I not right before?” Slav asks, offended. “Of course I’m sure! Well, ninety-eight percent.” He shrinks away from Keith’s glare. “Your friend will be with the third group. Believe me, when it comes to magic, the third choice is almost always your best chance for success!”

Frustrated, Keith stays hidden. Soon these riders, too, vanish into the night.

As the sound of hoofbeats fades away, he grabs Slav by the scruff of his neck. “You’d better be right,” he says. 

It doesn’t take long before, true to Slav’s words, a third group finally appears. Keith sits up, peering over the boulder. Leading the riders is a beautiful woman riding a giant black cat; the long, pale train of her gown flows behind her. Queen Honerva. As Keith looks at her the air around her shimmers. The veneer of youth and beauty fades, leaving behind a wrinkled crone with eyes glowing like embers.

Slav shudders. “ _Her_ ,” he says darkly. “This is where I leave you,” he says. “Good luck!” He slips away back up the hill. 

Keith searches the crowd, eyes darting between riders. One horse stands out from the others - a white horse, pale as milk in the moonlight. Its rider is shrouded in a black cloak scattered with stars. It looks like he’s wearing a piece of the night sky. Though his face is shadowed, the blue torchlight shows enough. “Shiro,” Keith whispers.

He shifts, ready to spring out from behind the cover of the rocks, but some of Slav’s caution must have rubbed off on him. He hesitates. Just like the first Shiro in the black armor, as hard as Keith looks he can’t see the scar, the white hair, the strangeness of his enchanted arm.

This isn’t Shiro either.

“No,” he breathes. Was the second Shiro the right one? Did he miss his chance? It doesn’t make sense - how can they all be fake? He looks back desperately for Slav, but the fairy’s long gone.

Something about the horse the fake Shiro’s riding isn’t right. It tosses its head, chomping at the bit and fighting its rider.

Of course they’d all be fake, Keith realizes. The Queen isn’t stupid; she expected them to try something. Of course she’d pull out every last trick in order to keep Shiro.

Shiro’s here. He _promised_ he’d be here. And Slav was certain he’d be with the third set of hunters

The white horse nearly bucks it's rider off.

Keith can’t wait any longer. He has to make a decision.

He stands, taking a deep breath, and darts out. He launches himself into the fray, weaving through and trying not to get trampled. He fights his way to the fake Shiro and wraps his arms around the fractious horse’s neck. There’s an explosion of shouting; hands try to pull him away. The not-Shiro grabs at him, saying something. Keith ignores him and holds on, praying he’s right. 

The horse still fights, finally throwing the fake Shiro off and sending Keith’s bones rattling. It shivers and turns to Shiro, the _real_ Shiro, in his arms.

“Keith -” he gasps, eyes wide and relieved - then a spasm runs through him. In the space of a blink Shiro is a beetle, tiny and jewel-bright, cupped in Keith’s hands. Quickly he closes his fingers over Shiro as the insect, buzzing, tries to take flight. With Shiro safe in his grasp the thought briefly flits through his head: _Maybe,_ maybe _this won’t be so bad_.

The Hunt circles around them. Keith hunches his shoulders defensively, but they come no closer, just remain in a circle around him, jeering. The Queen stares at him from the back of her mount, looking furious.

“ _You_ ,” she says.

Lightning cracks. Keith jumps, and the air is choked suddenly with black wings. Hundreds of shrieking, cawing crows whirl around him. They dive, clawing at his hair, his clothes, his skin. Their sharp beaks seek out his hands, trying to peck out the beetle clutched protectively within. Shutting his eyes tightly, Keith crouches and curls up. They can try as hard as they want; he’s not letting go.

The beetle stops moving and for a moment Keith can no longer feel him. He tries to hold Shiro carefully, equally afraid of dropping him and squishing him. He wants to open his hands to check he’s all right, but doesn’t dare. The birds attack his face and he curls up tighter. 

“I’ve got you, Shiro,” Keith promises. “Just hold on.”

The crows screech. Keith feels the beetle start to grow and change. Whatever’s in his hands now is long and skittering. It feels weird. He risks a glance and a large centipede shoot out of the gasp between his fingers, darting up his arm. It tickles horribly and Keith’s whole body shudders with the urge to get it off. Instead, he slaps a hand over it and tucks it out of the way of the crows’ questing beaks. The birds scream their frustration, claws scoring thin red lines on Keith’s arms.

“Yeah, fuck you, too.” Keith grits out, trying to ignore centipede Shiro’s squirming. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

When it’s clear to the crows they can’t pluck Shiro away from him, they drop from the air, landing in a mass around Keith. Like smoke they drift closer, stretching up into the cloaked figures that harassed him before. 

Keith tries to keep an eye on them but Shiro starts to change again, body puffing up, feathers sprouting. He becomes a bird, a raptor of some kind, screeching, wings beating, talons tearing Keith’s skin. After some struggle Keith manages to get his wings pinned, though the bird keeps thrashing, wild-eyed. Keith’s terrified of hurting him. “Shiro,” he begs. “Shiro, stop fighting me, please!”

A sharp, clawed hand grabs his face and jerks it upward. Keith pulls back, Shiro cradled to his chest. “Get away from me!” he gasps. The hooded crow-things have him surrounded and the air is crackling with strange energy.

Daring to take one arm off Shiro, he grabs his knife.

Laughter ripples through the faeries watching. 

Keith straightens up shakily, one hand covering Shiro’s head, knife held loosely by the other. “Don’t come near him,” he says, fingers tightening on the hilt. 

“Thief,” the thing croaks. It moves, and Keith moves, too, lunging forward and driving his knife into where the creature’s heart should be. It explodes in a burst of black feathers.

Off-balance, Keith stumbles forward and finds himself caught unexpectedly by a pair of white-clad arms. When he looks up he meets the Queen’s young-old eyes. She smiles at him, gently, and Keith is frozen. Caught by her amber gaze he’s only vaguely aware of the crow-things fading away into the night.

“You’ve fought hard for your love, mortal,” Queen Honerva says. “Tell me. What’s your name?”

In his arms, bird-Shiro gives one last piercing cry and becomes a snake, all shimmering black scales and muscled coils. Unlike the others animals, the snake doesn’t try to wriggle free, but wraps itself firmly around Keith’s hands. 

Coming to his senses, Keith regains his balance. He frees himself from the fairy queen’s grip, backing away. “My name is none of your business,” he says.

A flicker of annoyance crosses her face, but she smoothes it away. “I could use one such as you among my knights,” she says. “Let my Champion go. I will give you a position of honor.”

“Never,” Keith snarls. Shiro moves slowly in his grip, tongue flicking.

“Is it power in the human world you want? Fame? Riches?” She approaches slowly. “Everyone wants something. Think about it.”

Pressure grows in Keith’s head.

“What do you _want_?”

 _I want Shiro!_ he cries internally. _I want Dad_ , his brain whispers. _I want to know about my mother._

“Anything you want in all the world,” she whispers. “Nothing is beyond my power. All you have to do is let go.”

The snake slithers, smooth, in Keith’s grasp. He wraps his fingers firmly around its middle, and spits in the Queen’s face. “Never! All I want is him.”

Her face contorts with rage, all her beauty melting away. The snake strikes, fangs sinking deep into Keith’s hands. He gasps at the pain but doesn’t drop Shiro. 

“Four,” he says through clenched teeth. “That’s four, Shiro, we’re halfway there - ”

Snake Shiro hisses and coils into a ball. His scales turn grey and jagged, his body getting heavier and heavier until Keith’s muscles burn with the struggle of carrying him. He becomes a stone, and Keith falls to one knee, bracing the stone on the ground. Keeping one hand on Shiro, he sheathes his knife.

He looks up, expecting it the Queen to still be looming over him, but she’s backed away. The jeers of the watching fairies peter out and they grow quiet, so quiet Keith can hear soft footsteps in the sand behind him.

A hand, gentle, comes to rest on the back of his neck. Keith’s skin prickles at the touch.

“Listen to her, Keith,” Shiro’s voice says over his shoulder. “Let go. You don’t have to go through all this.” Fingers card through Keith’s hair. “You’ve done enough. You can let go.”

Keith’s stomach drops and he struggles back to his feet, turning to face him. This is the best impostor so far. It even has the scar. The enchantment is so strong he almost can’t see the wood underneath. Its expression is kind and understanding. It holds his arms out for an embrace. _It’s not Shiro_ , Keith reminds himself. _It’s just another fake_. The real Shiro is the one in his grasp, growing harder to hold by the second.

“Baby,” it says, an edge to its voice. “Come on. Just _let go_.”

God, the stone is heavy. Keith’s arms are shaking with the strain. “Make me,” he gasps.

The fake Shiro snarls, drawing his sword. He thrusts and Keith barely dodges, the stone slipping a little. The impostor advances. The circle of hunters closes in. Keith backs into one and they shove him forward roughly. 

He can’t run. He can’t go for his knife again, or he’ll drop Shiro. 

This is it. 

Keith lets himself sink to his knees, curling his body around the rock that was Shiro. If he can’t save him, then they’ll die together.

The blade touches his chin, tilting his face up. He looks into the false Shiro’s burning violet eyes. The impostor snarls, teeth bared - then vanishes.

The stones trembles; it grows and grows, turning tawny gold and sprouting fur that Keith clutches desperately. Shiro roars. He’s a lion, black-maned and snarling. He’s very big and very much does not like Keith holding onto his back. Shiro thrashes, trying to throw him off. Keith shuts his eyes, sliding and grabbing at what he can. He ducks away from snapping teeth, but the lion catches him across the face with one great paw, raking lines of fire down his cheek. 

Blood drips down his neck. “Six,” he says, voice shaking. “Almost there! Shiro, Shiro - _Takashi, please_ \- ”

The lion stills, ears going flat, and Keith can hear the Queen shouting - 

Shiro makes a soft, questioning noise.

“One more, just one more, Shiro - ”

The Queen shouts again.

The lion shrinks and shrinks until it fits in Keith’s hand, a chunk of something dark.

Another rock? No, Keith realizes, a coal. 

It bursts into flame. Keith closes his hands over it, hoping to smother the fire, but it keeps burning, a searing white-hot pain. _Drop it!_ his instincts scream. 

“Drop it,” the Queen says in his ear. “And the pain will stop.”

“Never,” he gasps.

 _Water_ , he think. There’s a stream, a little stream, not too far from here. It always has at least a thin trickle of water except in bad drought years. Keith takes a first painful step. Shiro cradled carefully in his burning hands, he runs. The fairies around him don’t move out of his way but they don’t stop him this time, either.

The Hunt follows.

Behind him, he hears the scraping sound of a blade being unsheathed. Tears pricking his eyes, Keith turns to look, expecting more crows, another false Shiro trying to hurt him. It’s neither of those. It’s Sendak.

The crowd has grown in size during Keith’s trials. The rest of the Hunt came to watch. He can even see the King’s antlered helmet towering above the rest.

The massive purple fairy strides up to him and places the tip of his sword over Keith’s heart. “Drop him, mortal.”

The pain in Keith’s hands is blinding. He just stares at Sendak mutely, brain still screaming for water, for him to let go. 

The blade digs in, just a little. “Drop him,” he commands again. “Or die.”

All at once, Keith gets it - _Sendak can’t do anything to him_. The crows only scratched him, and fled as soon as he fought back. The Queen only whispered promises at him, and the fake Shiro disappeared when he had the chance to end him. If Sendak was allowed to kill Keith, he would have already. They can try to make him drop Shiro, they can frighten him and hurt him in little ways, but they can’t kill him. _They have to give Keith a chance._

He turns his back on Sendak. He keeps walking. The tears of pain finally escape. Though he stumbles to his knees several times, he drags himself up again.

He keeps expecting to feel Sendak’s blade slipping through his ribs.

_Just a little farther._

It hurts. But he made Shiro a promise - he’s not going to let go.

He falls again and his knees hit damp sandy soil. He’s reached the edge of the stream. It’s swollen, higher than he expected. There must have been some rain up in the mountains. With a sob, he plunges his hands into the cold water.

A great scream of fury rises up behind him. The burning finally stops. For several terrifying seconds the coal remains a motionless lump in his hands. 

“Please,” Keith gasps. “Please, Shiro! _Takashi Shirogane, don’t do this to me._ ” 

Another moment passes. The coal quivers and sparks, and then - 

Shiro is there, one arm gone, hair fully taken over by white. He’s soaked and completely naked, but alive. 

And human. 

“Keith,” he says, breathless. “You did it.” 

Dizzy, Keith touches his face, the now-visible scar on his nose. He scrabbles at his jacket, pulling it from his shoulders. He gives it to Shiro, who’s shivering. It doesn’t cover much, but hopefully it helps a little. 

Keith is about to speak, when he feels a hand grabbing his hair, yanking him backwards. A clawed hand wraps around his throat. Honerva.

“Let go of him!” Shiro roars.

Keith scrabbles for his knife and he Queen lets him drop heavily to the ground. The Hunt closes in behind her, many crying out for her to curse him, kill him, turn him to stone.

She advances on Shiro. “You,” she hisses. “I should have cut out your heart the day I met you.

Heedless of his nakedness, Shiro stands. With a face like stone he ignores her and goes to Keith, helping him back up. “Keith passed the challenge,” he says. “I’ve been won fairly. You can’t harm either of us.”

“Tonight,” she says, eyes narrow. “I can punish neither of you _tonight_.” Drawing her beauty around her like a cloak she sweeps back to her husband. Her cat kneels so she can mount. The king watches impassively. The Queen holds her head high and scowls down at them. “Get out of my sight.”

Shiro seems weak and unsteady on his legs, a little off balance with one less arm. Keith tries to support him, but with adrenaline turning to shock, the slashes on his face still bleeding, he’s not much better. 

Slowly they take one step, then another, and another, and leave the Hunt behind.

Keith leans against Shiro. He should have thought to bring extra shoes. “Come on,” he says. They’re holding each other up. “Let me take you home.”

* * *

They hang iron horseshoes over each door. They put food out for the friendly spirits, in hopes they’ll give Keith and Shiro a warning should they see anyone coming to harm them. They head out to the crossing periodically, looking for disturbances, but find nothing.

The Queen is leaving them in peace.

“It won’t last forever,” Shiro warns. “Fairies hold grudges. She’s just waiting for the right time.”

Keith shrugs. They’re reclining on the porch, watching the sunset. He leans his head on Shiro’s shoulder. He’s not going to waste time worrying about it. He’s got Shiro, and everything is right with the world.

Well, his world. Shiro is still readjusting to being human. He’s taken a few hesitant trips into town, but only with his face mostly hidden. There are plenty of Garrison folk about, and Shiro doesn’t want to be recognized before he’s decided how to officially come back to life.

“Keith,” Shiro says. “Do you see that?”

Keith sits up, shading his eyes against the sun.

There are people approaching the house, three of them. One, small, waves their hands, while a skinny figure is half-holding up the third, biggest, member of their group. 

“Hey!” the little one cries. A girl’s voice. “Can somebody help us?”

Shiro stands as they approach the house. “Hikers?” he says to Keith.

Keith frowns. “Looks like it.” Every once in a while someone wanders through his property thinking they’re still in the state park. He really needs to put up better signs.

“Come on up,” Shiro calls to the trio. When they get close, he helps the injured hiker up the porch steps.

“Thanks,” the girl says, tugging at her ponytail. “We got lost, and my phone died - ”

“And then Hunk fell in a hole,” the skinny guy says.

The big guy moans. “I think I broke my ankle.” 

Shiro takes a look. “Probably just twisted,” he says. “But let’s get you some ice to put on it.” 

Keith fetches him the ice and the first aid kit, and settles back down to watch Shiro work.

The girl watches him, too, with narrowed eyes. She bites her lip. “Say,” she starts. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

Shiro looks up, startled. Keith has to stop his hand from reaching for his knife. 

Shiro stares at the girl for a long time. “Katie?”

She shoots to her feet. “I knew it!” she cries. “You’re Shiro! Where the hell have you been?” She sounds angry rather than relieved.

“Wait,” says the skinny guy. “ _That_ Shiro? The one who -”

“Shut up, Lance!” She stalks up to Shiro, putting a finger in his chest. “Everyone thought you were dead! And you were, what - hiding out here?”

Shiro puts his hands up, placating. “It’s a very long story - ”

Her eyes are filling with tears. “People looked for you! People are _still_ looking for you! My dad and brother - ”

Shiro looks stricken. “What happened?”

She takes a great gulping breath. “They went _missing_ looking for you.”

“That’s why we’re out here,” Hunk breaks in. “Looking for Matt and Commander Holt.”

Shiro is pale and shocked. Keith grabs his hand and squeezes. He speaks up: “Look, I’m sorry to hear about your family, but the desert’s dangerous. People die out here all the time.

“Not my family!” she snaps. “Something weird happened to them.”

Keith and Shiro look at each other. “Something… weird?” Shiro repeats.

She crosses her arms. “Yeah. It’s pretty weird for two people to just _disappear_ in the middle of a huge search party.”

“And none of the explanations make any sense!” Lance pipes up. “Like, who really believes they fell in a sinkhole, or got dragged off by animals without _anyone_ seeing?”

Keith bites his lip. “Where exactly were they last seen?” 

“Not that far from here. In a big patch of - ”

“Cholla,” Keith sighs, closing his eyes. 

She seizes him by the arms. “Do you know something about it? Have you seen them?”

“Let’s just say I have a good idea what happened.” He opens his eyes. “Shiro - ” 

“I know,” Shiro says in a low voice. “But we can't just leave them there.”

“Leave them where?” Katie’s head swivels between them. “What do you know?”

Lance leans in, and even Hunk seems to have forgotten about his ankle.

Shiro looks at Keith. Keith shrugs. Shiro exhales. “I don’t suppose you guys know much about fairies?”

**Author's Note:**

> God, I love em-dashes.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr [here!](http://caput-medusae.tumblr.com)


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